


Treascrachive Day

by Aloof_Introvert



Series: Managing the Life of Tarrant Hightopp, and Five Other Impossible Things [9]
Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Death, Gen, Passive-aggression, Rebellion, Red Castle, Salazan Grum, Sarcasm, Singing, Symbolism, Time - Freeform, references to the original books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloof_Introvert/pseuds/Aloof_Introvert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant has a brief case of stage fright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treascrachive Day

     As I bowed to Her Highness the Red Queen, I am certain that the pin I wore upon my lapel-- a small bronze skull-- caught the light. And I'm aware that it is treasonous to write such a thing, and I'm normally so unlikely to betray, but I do hope it shone into her eyes and blinded her.

\----

     Hours before, Thackery had worked himself into a fever over the chances of meeting aristocracy, earls and barons and viscounts and the like. Mally joined in immediately, having never encountered such people before. They were drawn to the soirée by Thackery's optimism, despite the ominous content of the party. We ran about, chattering about are-my-breeches-clean-yet and how-do-you-suppose-the-castle-will-look and have-you-seen-my-cravat? A storm was brewing, grey tendrils of cloud creeping from the north like tree-roots. It was near noon by the time I took notice of it, too preoccupied by my outfit. As I stood in the fadesome light of my bedroom, I was seized with a curious sort of tight-lipped anger, a curious sort of clarity. There was some thing I ought to wear, certain articles that would cut the Queen. I don't know how I knew it, but I was absolutely certain.

     I wore dark trousers with a faint plaid pattern. I wore an ash grey shirt with a blood red vest. I wore bronzey buttons and sombre colours, a coat of violet and blue. Through the knot of my black silk cravat stabbed a rose pin. To my left lapel I'd fastened thin gold necklace-chains of varying lengths, one of which ended in a carved crimson heart. I emphasized my usual cosmetics, choosing a burnt brown rather than my usual pink and sky blue. And part of me cringed away from it, but I put on my hat, as well. I was ready.

     Since Salazan Grum (where the Red Castle is located) is rather far from Witzend, Thackery had called a horse-drawn gig in order to avoid arriving late. All crowded in, and off we went on a not-slightly-bumpy road, Mally cupped in my hands because otherwise she would bounce out onto the road directly. As we neared Salazan Grum, the wind seemed to change; it died in mid-gust. Nothing stirred the grit that the firmish loam road had transformed into.

     The castle itself was a looming thing, a phantom in the poinsettia sunset. Its silhouette carved itself out of bristling spires and mishappen heart-arches. Imposing spires of rock jutted out of the parchly ground; bony black trees sprouted from the sand. I discerned the dark shapes milling about near one of the stone watchtowers to be fellow Underlanders. Perhaps we needed to be checked in or somesuch. With a thank-you to the horses pulling the gig, my friends and I disembarked and made our way to the crowd. A set of large doors was heaved open, one of many, and the gloom inside seemed to leech the light from the dusky air. There was no turning back. Attended by red knights, my muttering fellows and I were all accounted for and ushered into the oppressive castle corridor. Since the halls were narrow and lined with more card soldiers, we were forced to proceed in single-file.

     In the party proper, no expense was spared (and neither was any one else). The effect became more noticeable throughout the evening; "guests" vanished at first slowly, but then at an alarming rate. I would perceive some one speak out of turn, and when I looked back they would be gone. Or perhaps some one would complain of the food, the cramped and stifling atmosphere, the candles allowed to fizzle out... They were doubtless escorted to some dungeon hidden in the depths of the massive castle. Interestingly, almost no mention was made of the departed Red King; the Queen, according to her (altogether curiously proportioned) courtiers, wished to be joyous in this time of "triumph" rather than dwell upon the sadness of her husband's untimely death. The good Queen herself was seated high above the proceedings-- the ballroom seeming to be the sole room in the castle possessed of high ceilings-- in an opulent gold-gilt balcony. Throughout said proceedings, the entertainment was stilted and nervously; the food, no one touched; we dear guests of honour sat rigid.

     "Hatter..." Mally got my attention with a tug of the sleeve as I left my tea quite alone.

     "Yes, Mally?" She shifted in her seat, unsettled.

     "She's lookin' at you." During the evening, it seemed to be a general rule that if the Queen's eyes ever settled upon you, she would surely command you to entertain her. My suspicion (and, admittedly, my fear) was confirmed when the Knave spoke. He stepped forwards from his place beside the Queen and announced:

     "And now, a song from our own Mad Hatter." At first nobody laughed at the title, but a few elbows from a few diligent card soldiers soon fixed that. My friends, hushed by the chortling, discreetlike wished me luck. I saw Thackery wring his paws and ears. A red knight took me by the arm and ushered me through the aisle and up to the stage. From the audience, there was a dry spatter of applause.

     I squinted in the sudden light, but as my eyes adjusted I was able to perceive in the gloom our patient monarch: her smile flickered for only a second when she caught sight of my attire. The Queen's lips were painted in a pinched and particular fashion, and soft blue cosmetics covered the plentiful space between her eye-lids and thin painted eye-brows. I suppose it was meant to be beautiful, but to me it gave the unsettling impression of a living doll, albeit one with unusual poise. Her curled hair was the blood red of lycoris flowers, and arranged in such a way that, with the help of her elegantly pointed chin, her head (which was regrettably large) formed a heart. Her eyes, singularly black and unsympathetic, disputed the meaning of that scarlet heart.

     She laughed merrily as the Knave made some jest at my expense, and I could feel myself taking on the colour of lycoris as well.

     "Well?" she snapped provokingly, as if personally offended by my lack of performance. "Go on!" I hadn't the slightest idea of what to sing. My throat had gone painfully dry in my terror; I shook in my shoes and could not hide it. A "madman" keening forth in his hoarse and cracking voice... No, it would not do. Only a handful of moments had passed, but it felt as though it had been ages. Abruptish, my anxiety melted away. I had decided upon a song.

     I straightened my back; I brushed a bit of dust from the shoulder of my jacket. It was a traditional song, an old song indeed, a cherished and beloved tune that I could pronounce well. Known would it be to my fellow citizens, as they had sung it since they were young. I held my hat to my chest and bowed to Her Highness the Red Queen and sang:

     "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat. How I wonder where you're at?" Her face became flushed with what I could only imagine was humiliation as a tentative chuckle rushed through the crowd. My friends joined me upon the start of the next majestic, time-worn lyric. "Up above the world you fly, like a tea-tray in the sky..." Well, we had hardly finished the first verse when the Queen bawled out, "He's murdering the Time! Off with his head!"

     And what could I do? I held my hat tightly to my head and ran.

\----

     Smaller than I, my friends had had no trouble darting through the crowd, and we met panting in an abandoned corridor now lit by the moon. Mally had scarcely pegged me with an invigourated grin than we discovered that we weren't the only escapees. A singular white rabbit in a dark blue waistcoat and matching jacket bumped into Thackery with haste; he flopped onto the ground with his legs sticking up, and I could hear a faint chorus of "oh dear, oh dear" drifting from him.

     "Get on your feet, would you!" Thackery prodded, offering him a paw. The rabbit took it gratefully and seized the opportunity to shake Thackery's paw.

     "Thank you, dreadfully sorry. My name is McTwisp-- Nivens McTwisp." He nearly rattled Thackery's arm clean off of his shoulder in his anxious frenzy. "I must say, that was really very brave of you all-- the singing."

     "Thanks much," said Mally, tail flicking in pride. "This sort of rebellion stuff doesn't come easily, you know."

     "Speaking of... rebellion," Nivens said, voice low, eyes alert and wary. "A few friends of mine and I were considering fashioning some sort of... 'resistance'... Oh, that's such a strong word!" he cried, all the while striving to keep his voice hushed.

     "Hm... I like it," I decided.

     "So do I," Mally said.

     "Aye, me as well," said Thackery, punctuating his words with a firm nod. "But 'rumbledethump' is a fun word too."

     "Then I suppose we are all in agreement," said Nivens, smiling a satisfied smile.

     "I suppose we are," I said. "I don't suppose you would like to meet us for tea, perhaps--" Here I checked my pocket-watch-- "three days from to-morrow?"

     "No no, I'm afraid that won't do," Nivens said, tone apologetic. "It would be far more convenient for me to escort you to meet my friends; they are Looking-Glass People, you see." I told him that I understood (it is difficult to adapt to Looking-Glass travel, especially during one's first visit there) and a date was set.

\----

     As my friends and I made our swift getaway by gig, I made amends with Time. I apologised for my careless wasting of him and assured him that from that point forwards, I would be very busy.

     Very busy, indeed.

\----

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Treascrachive" is modified from Irish Gaelic "treascracha," meaning "subversive."  
> : )


End file.
